


Being Asked

by buttpatting



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Other, but why tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 15:57:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttpatting/pseuds/buttpatting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After three months of recovery, Chilton is back at his hospital and ready to pick apart one Will Graham. His methods are most decidedly unethical, but some of them can be a little sexual, too.</p><p>A lot sexual, actually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Being Asked

It had been two weeks since Chilton ( _Doctor Chilton_ , he should have thought, because slipping up in “therapy” had proven to go over less than favorable) had made his return to _his_ hospital, and it had been two weeks since Will’s first visit from him. Two weeks with no interaction with anyone but Chilton himself; where the orderlies had, at least, spoken to him of how the weather was before, they remained almost completely silent. Going to the showers had once been littered with mentions of the rain, the heat, the cool, the cloudy overcast. Ever since Chilton came back, it was as silent as it had to be. Nothing more than instructions on where to go or to follow at a certain pace—which was, he supposed, their way of letting him know they were under orders, considering he’d been there for three months at that point and knew it all by heart—and nothing more.

No more hearing about a dog acting up and actually being able to help out. No more hearing how the dog reacted, how her attitude improved and her owner was grateful.

Just the basics.

He knew Chilton had to have something to do with it, and where he’d been surprised by the silence, he’d quickly grown completely unsurprised. If Chilton could make himself the only _real_ person Will spoke to for as long as possible, he’d come to rely on him heavily. Not just rely on him, but twiddle his thumbs as he waited for him to come down. He’d grow fond of the man, against his own wishes, and he’d be eager to please.

He’d break, in short. He’d bend, he’d break, and Chilton would pick up the pieces to shape them back into something that he thought fit better. He’d take away as much of Will Graham as he possibly could, and he’d make him something that was completely unlike him.

Which meant, of course, that Will couldn’t let it happen. He knew who he was. He wasn’t going to change inwardly. He’d grow an outward liking of the man, to some extent. He wouldn’t put up as much of a fight, certainly. But he’d never break. No matter how much his _doctor_ tried to get him to that point.

Will was an innocent man, after all. He had no reason to lose himself, because he hadn’t done anything _wrong._

 

It wasn’t wrong, Will knew, to wake up with an erection. It happened sometimes, whether he wanted it to or not, even if his dreams hadn’t been overtly sexual. And, ever since he’d been locked away, it had happened twice the first month, four times the next, and culminated in _six_ the third month. Since Chilton had returned, it had happened just once, and Will had done the same as he’d done the former twelve times: lay there in his thing called a bed, gone over mundane facts he’d learned in school, and waited for it to sort itself out before going about his day.

Which was just as mundane as being able to recite the American presidents and their tenures backwards and forwards, but at least he was keeping his mind active.

It had been nearly a month—a month full of Chilton visiting every damn day whether Will wanted him to or not, and not always at a set time—since his last one, and while he had set himself in the mindset to ignore any of them that cropped up along the way, he woke up not only with an erection, but with his hand already teasing his cock. It was a hell of a way to wake up, definitely, but after a moment’s thought and a tired sigh, he decided to release the tension the more _natural_ way, and he hadn’t been at it for very long at all before he overheard footsteps.

It happened. Staff came down on their way to one of the break rooms. Staff came and went, no one bothered Will, and he knew it wasn’t mealtime. He paused as he waited for the door leading off to the outside to shut, and he resumed whenever he heard it. The door shut, and it was as silent as it had been before.

It remained silent for some time after, wherein Will worked himself up, panting slightly as he neared his climax, and it was at the point where he knew he had less than a half a minute at most that he heard footsteps again. Three people, quickly making their way towards his cell (“Chilton’s trophy room” he called it to himself, particularly after having been told that Abel Gideon had spent quite some time there), and that wasn’t what he’d expected at all.

Frustrated in every way, he quickly stuffed himself back into his pants and sat up, back turned towards the hallway as he hoped in vain that Chilton had only a few words to say to him and wouldn’t demand he turn around. Perhaps an announcement of a change, perhaps telling him he’d be having a visitor that afternoon (it hadn’t happened since Chilton had arrived, but he hoped his continual good behavior would be enough to warrant time with _someone_ he hadn’t seen in what felt like a lifetime), or even finally asking if he had any particular desires for a special meal that evening.

It wasn’t to be. The glass slid open, and he heard an order from behind it, though it was odd. Instead of being told to put his hands behind his back or his neck, an order he always obeyed without hesitation or complaint, he was told to extend his arms out in front of him and stay exactly as he was. The hesitation was only because of the unusual request, but the orderly barely got the chance to repeat it before he held his arms up and kept his gaze demurely fixed on the wall across him.

He’d found it better to sleep facing the wall, not the corridor. That way, if Chilton stopped by and he didn’t have the desire to deal with him? It was easier to feign sleep. It had only worked a handful of times, but those times had been enough for him. Chilton had just “woken” him up and gotten along with what he wanted, but Will knew trying wasn’t so bad. He looked like a mess half the time anyway; it was hardly difficult to believe he’d actually been asleep.

Arms held aloft, he refused to look up when a pair of cuffs were clamped on his wrists, thick and large leather with padding against his flesh, a chain long enough for him to move but not long enough for him to do much damage threaded between them. He refused to look at the orderly doing it, refused to acknowledge that he was sitting there with a full erection obvious beneath the fabric of his pants, refused to acknowledge that there was anything strange about the situation and he knew as much. The sound of a folding chair being opened across from him was ignored, and when the glass door slid shut but not locked behind them, he let out a quiet breath as he waited for whatever words Chilton was formulating.

Slowly, he brought his hands down to his lap, positioned as far away from his groin as he could without it coming across as an uncomfortable angle.

“I need you to shut your eyes for me now, Will.”

On a list of things Will had been expecting, that hadn’t been on it. It hadn’t been anywhere near it, truth be told, and he almost broke his gaze away from the wall to look at him. He managed to keep still, however, nothing but his brow furrowing in physical reaction that he’d heard him speak at all.

“I gave you an order, Will.”

A quick intake of air and he finally looked away, eyes snapping to the corner of the room before he nodded the slightest bit. A mere downward tilting of his head, but then he shut his eyes and waited for whatever fresh hell might have been waiting at the hands of _Doctor Chilton._ While he may have thought of the man by his surname only, he had to make sure he didn’t screw that up. And now, whatever may have been planned, he had to make _doubly_ sure of it.

“That’s better.”

How he managed to sound smugger than usual, Will had no idea, but he did. It wasn’t Will simply being overly alert thanks to his eyes being closed, it was the tone, the sense of confidence in his power over him behind it, and in so little as two words.

It pissed him off, and although he hadn’t started thinking through basic knowledge of history and math, it was a good start to getting rid of his erection.

Chilton’s footsteps were much louder than usual, registering almost as a mercilessly pounded, full set of timpani in his ears. He swallowed, waiting for something painful to come, but ended up letting out a heavy sigh whenever he felt a strip of cloth covering his eyes. Nothing as fancy as silk, of course, but cotton, perhaps. If he had to guess, he might just assume it was a bandana, but he didn’t really have the time to think too heavily on it. He was more aware that he’d let something akin to a _whimper_ of confusion out when he felt it against his skin, and he ended up slouching a little more whenever he felt the brush of fingers against his scalp as whatever the cloth was moved around his head and was tied behind it.

“Doctor Chilton, I—"

“Don’t speak, Will. Don’t speak until I tell you to, or this won’t go as _smoothly_ as it could. Nod your head if you understand. _Nod_ for me, Will.”

The moment he felt the knot secure, Will nodded, breathing a bit too loudly through his nose. He was completely uncertain as to what it was Chilton was going for, which put him out of his element. Before, he’d been capable of all but _predicting_ where something was going to go, had been able to find a loophole around it, had been able to morph the conversation into something more fitting. At least, from his point of view.

Chilton had, unfortunately, caught on quicker than he would have liked.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, being _so_ good with your memory, it’s been nearly a month since I’ve come back.” He could hear him situating the chair, not too near but not on the other side of his _trophy room._ Fabric rustled, and he could just see him flattening his tie against his chest as he sat. He could see him crossing his legs as easily as he could see him interlacing his fingers over his stomach. Will had noticed it—how could he not?—but past a glance at the gesture, he hadn’t acknowledged it. The look Chilton had given him just for that had been enough to discourage him bringing it up, not that he was inclined to be cruel. If he’d had a thought in his head to bring up Chilton’s being cut open, however, it would have been enough to dissuade him. Unless he found himself high on drugs that weren’t reacting well to him at all, drugs that served to make him aggravated and volatile, he had no plans of mentioning it. “I heard something I found a little _strange_ when I returned. You wake up as you are now, apparently, but you never _do_ anything about it. I wondered why that was. Getting used to being like this takes time, I know. I can’t imagine it’s very easy. But you’ve been here for _so_ long now, Will, I couldn’t help wondering why you hadn’t touched yourself. It’s nothing unnatural, you know. There’s nothing _out of place_ with it. The only thing here out of place is you. But this is your home now, and you are free to treat it as such. Do you understand what I’m saying, Will? Nod if you understand. _Nod_.”

He had wanted to tune him out, had wanted to start thinking about things that had nothing to do with the fact of the matter that he was hard (though it was starting to go away the longer Chilton talked, his dislike of the man helping him along the way of getting rid of it), but he couldn’t afford to. He couldn’t afford to _ignore_ him, and even though he could hardly tolerate his voice, he couldn’t ignore what he was saying. Not only was he addressing the situation, he was asking him about it. There was no way he could simply not react, and he found himself nodding without having to actively think about it.

Chilton hadn’t broken him. He couldn’t. However, Will had found that immediate obedience was a surefire way to getting things to move along, even if he didn’t like it all that much. So he nodded, hands still as far away from his groin as he could sensibly keep them.

“Will, I’m going to ask you to do something. _Ask._ ”

The word itself brought out a groan, hands moving to rub over his face. Chilton asked him to do things, but it never meant that Will could actually deny him what he wanted. It was fake, giving Will the idea that he could refuse him. A false sense of power, though they both knew who was, without a doubt, in control between the two of them. Rubbing his face came with another nod, coupled with him slouching over even further. If he could just lean forward all the way, contort his body, and press his forehead against the sheets…no, he’d tried that. He wouldn’t ooze out of the cell. He’d just feel uncomfortable and be stuck in the same damn place he’d been for nearly four months.

“I’d like you to finish what you started. I’d like you to finish masturbating while we talk. Can you do that for me?” He barely gave it a moment’s pause before he fixed it. “ _Will_ you do that for me?”

Would Will do something for him—a line, teasing him as Will had once teased fish along the creeks and streams of Louisiana. Letting him think that there was a choice, as per usual, but phrasing it as though Will was doing him a favor.

The power games were exhausting, if only because Will never had a chance of winning.

“I—”

“What did I say about speaking? Surely you’re not _that_ distracted that you’d forget an _order_. Use your head for me, not your voice. Tell me if you’ll do what I’m asking you to.”

He didn’t want to. There was nothing in Will Graham’s body language that would lead _anyone_ to think he wanted to do such a thing, not from the way he seemed to slump and how he moved his hands as far away from him as he possibly could, leaning over himself as though he could hide if he was just quiet and small and still enough. Eventually, he ended up leaning forward completely, shackled arms stretched out before him, and when he heard the rustle of fabric, he easily assumed Chilton was adjusting himself in irritation.

He heard the sigh that signaled the request about to turn into an order. Before Chilton could say as much, Will nodded again, biting his bottom lip as he tried to make it seem less invasive and bizarre as it actually was.

“Remember, Will: you’re doing this of your own volition. I’m not… _forcing your hand._ ”

And there was the wordplay. Will’s eyes opened behind the blindfold, rolling off to look at the corner again as though some sort of salvation would come from above, but he knew it wasn’t to be. He knew that Chilton might not have been guiding his hand to his dick (and thank God for that), but he honestly had no choice in the matter. Chilton wanted him to jerk off, so there was no way to refuse. He could, of course, and risk being punished for it. If he wanted to come out of physically unscathed, he could do nothing other than obey, and obey without much sign of a struggle. The struggle had already been presented, so he screwed his courage to the sticking place and sat up fully, sighing heavily as he shifted to tug his pants just enough to free his almost fully erect cock to the air, sighing with an unwanted sense of relief when he felt it once again. Unwanted because how the _hell_ could he want to masturbate in front of Chilton, of all people?

“I’m going to ask you some questions while you go about it, Will. The ones that require verbal answers, you are allowed to speak. The ones that require a simple yes or no, you nod or shake your head. Tell me if this makes sense. _Speak._ ”

“Yes, Doctor Chilton. It makes sense. I understand.”

He didn’t want to understand. He didn’t _actually_ understand, if he thought about it long enough. He didn’t understand the motivation or purpose behind it. Not at that exact moment, at least. Anything other than humiliation required too much thought, and as one set of fingers glided over his shaft, he couldn’t think clearly enough to piece a more complicated puzzle together. Later, once he’d gotten himself off and Chilton had left, once he was able to get his thoughts clear again, he would figure it out. Now, however, he had one thing to do before he could get to that point.

And Jesus _Christ_ , but he didn’t want to do it all.

“I’m wondering, Will, I’m _wondering_ what you were thinking before I came across you. What was going through your mind as you were masturbating before I interrupted?”

“Nothing.”

“I find that difficult to believe. Nothing at all?”

“Nothing but getting myself off.”

“No one in mind, just wanting to be done with it?”

He nodded—it was a yes or no question, and he had to play the game according to Chilton’s rules—as he swallowed again, finally taking a firm grip of himself and getting back into it as he had before. He was aware of the eyes on him, though he hoped they weren’t watching with _too_ much investment. Chilton probably thought he was pulling some profound psychological strings, not just coming down to watch Will get himself off and use it as a masturbatory aid for later.

“When you masturbate normally, do you usually think of nothing but getting yourself off, or do you have a specific person in mind whenever you find yourself in such a state?”

Will knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Chilton wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d come all over himself, but his voice was impeding the process. Not just his voice, but what Will was under the impression he was asking. Hearing him say her name would make the entire process almost _tawdry_ , and Will would have more difficulty imagining her like he assumed Chilton would aim for.

“Sometimes I think of,” it was getting difficult to speak clearly, because if Will had any say in the matter, he’d finish himself off as quickly as possible and be done with it, “someone else. Not always.”

“Rather normal, Will. But you missed my actual _question_ : do you have a _specific person_ in mind whenever you touch yourself, Will? And if so, who is it?”

“I. Sometimes.” His hand had been working him quickly, but when faced with saying her name, he couldn’t help but slow down. He wanted it over with, but bringing _her_ up would make it more difficult…and it would give Chilton more satisfaction than Will, in his current state, would like him to have. As usual, he realized he didn’t have a choice, and if he wanted things to go _smoothly_ , as Chilton had said, he’d just give him what he wanted and fight back as little as possible. “She’s. Alana Bloom.”

“Doctor Bloom?” There was that smug tone again, so smug that Will wondered if the man had reserves for it somewhere, stores he could call and use whenever he wanted to sound like more of an ass than he usually did. “I _had_ noticed you seemed to be quite close to her, that day you came into my office. She’s asked after you, as I’m sure you’ve figured out by now. She actually stopped by just a week ago to argue about how you should be allowed visitors. I said you had plenty of them when it came to the FBI, and that she was arguing that _she_ should be allowed to visit. Would you like to know what she was wearing? She looked as magnificent as usual.”

“No—”

“I didn’t need you to speak on that one, Will. But I’ll let it slide, _just this once._ You’re so quick to deny it, but why is that? Clearly you dream about her, what harm is there in listening to what she was wearing? Unless you’re offended that I might be undressing her with my eyes at the same time you are, which—really, Will? _Hypocritical_ is a bad look on you.” He paused, Will’s hand slowing against himself, and went down a different direction. “Is this how you normally pleasure yourself, Will? Sitting up? Why don’t you just lie back and tell me, exactly, what it is you think of when you do this with Doctor Bloom in mind.”

_George Washington, April 30, 1789 – March 4, 1797_  
 _John Adams, March 4, 1797 – March 4, 1801_  
 _Thomas Jefferson, March 4, 1801 – March 4, 1809_  
 _James Madison, March 4, 1809 – March 4, 1817_

“Will?”

“Yes, Doctor Chilton?”

“I didn’t ask you to stop. You’ll never learn anything if you don’t finish what you start. It’s a valuable lesson, and you’re not done yet. Nor will you get the chance to, if you don’t tell me what you think of when it comes to Doctor Bloom. Lie back on the bed, first, and then tell me _everything._ ”

“What was she wearing?”

“What?”

That made Will smile, small as it was. It was good, in his mind, that even as addled and out of his element as he currently was, he could still catch Chilton by surprise. He could just imagine his face screwed up in momentary confusion, head tilted as though he just _knew_ he couldn’t have heard him properly, and then pulling back like he hadn’t betrayed his actual thoughts at all. When he spoke, he had that same smug tone that Will had been expecting, and although he hated to hear him speak about Alana in any capacity, if he could just get it over and done with, he’d be content. Spread out as much as he could, he kicked the comforter off the bed and let out a quiet laugh as he went back to stroking himself.

“You still there, Doctor Chilton?”

“I am. She was wearing a dress, somewhat low cut, nearing her knees, dark red in color. She wore a black jacket over it, a sash wrapped through the loops. Very alluring, but that’s hardly out of the norm for her. What does she wear when you think about her like this? I’d prefer you to be as _detailed_ as I ask you to be with everything else, Will. If you don’t comply, I just might make you stop…leave you like that, hands cuffed behind you. You wouldn’t be able to do anything about it then, would you? Let’s not leave you with that frustration.”

“Well, now she’s wearing _that._ ” Will knew that jacket. The dress, he could imagine without difficulty. “Before—she has this shirt, just a regular…it’s red, too. She looks _so_ good in red. She looks good in just about anything,” a groan as he ran his other hand over his stomach, his busy one making quick work of getting him off, “but this one, God. She looks _divine._ And she has these jeans, they’re…they cling to…walking behind her when she’s wearing them, it’s. They’re very distracting.”

“So you’re saying her bottom drives you to want to do what you’re doing right now, is that it?”

“Yes. More her thighs, though.” He was close, and getting further there with each passing second, breathing heavily through his nose and trying his best to appear shameless. The guilt of it would eat at him later, certainly, but he had to play like Chilton had finally worn him down. In this situation, at least. “I just, I’d want to get her on a desk, on the bed. It doesn’t matter where. Get her up there and push them open, move that dress up her hips, pull her underwear down, stick my face right in there. Just…eat her out for an hour, just to hear her say my name and the way she moans and how she reacts, how her muscles tense or relax—”

He hadn’t heard footsteps. He hadn’t heard movement. He’d been so caught up in what he was saying—and _seeing_ , of course—that anything other than Alana and talking about her had been ignored. He had no idea had that Chilton had moved, and it wasn’t until the makeshift blindfold was ripped off of him the very moment he came that Will realized he wasn’t in his chair any longer. The blindfold came off, his eyes opened, and between the sudden brightness of the room and the fading image of Alana’s open legs, the first thing he saw was Chilton.

Looking down at him, head tilted slightly, one eyebrow quirked as he studied his face, made it very apparent that he’d done it on purpose, that he’d chosen that specific moment, and that Will had to accept it. The first thing he saw the moment he climaxed was _Doctor Chilton’s_ face, and that was completely unexpected.

It was horrifying, even, and he blinked it away and looked off, panting as he felt as though he was spent much sooner than usual. It wasn’t the case. He just _wanted_ it to be. He stopped touching himself soon as he saw that smug bastard’s face, of course, but there was no reversing nature; a few moments later and he looked down to see strips of his come all over his state sanctioned shirt, his exposed cock, and nothing else. He refused to look anywhere that wasn’t the wall, and he all but yanked his pants back up his hips the moment he got himself together enough to do just that.

“Oh, Will.”

He was no longer behind him, Will could tell. He heard his footsteps then, heard the scratching of the chair on the floor, finally moving his gaze to look up at the ceiling as though, yet again, some help from above would arrive. Of course it wouldn’t. He had to face him at some point, he knew. Chilton didn’t do very well when he wasn’t the center of focus, at least when it came to Will. He’d tried to have sessions with his back turned, but it never worked for very long. He’d tried to ignore him, and that had led to _humiliation_ , though never anything quite like…whatever it was this had been. Finally having gotten his breath back under control, he sat up to gather his comforter from the floor, looking across the way at _his doctor_ , eyes meeting his briefly before he turned to resettle his bed and sit facing him.

Looking down, he caught sight of a drop of white on his cuffs, shut his eyes, and shook his head. What was there to say, really? And _could_ he even say it, the order from before taken into account? Had that just been while he had him…show himself as he had?

“Feeling better now, Will?”

“Feeling awful, actually.”

“But you’ve released all that tension. You don’t feel the slightest bit of relief, not even a _bit?_ ”

“Let me clarify: I feel better _in one way._ I feel awful in practically every other way possible.”

“Are you expecting me to leave you after that confession? Leave you feeling awful?”

“I.” He had no idea what to expect. He expected humiliation, he expected Chilton to smirk at a job well done (just not _from above him_ ), and he hadn’t thought through to the end. What made the most sense? “I would prefer it, actually.”

“Oh, _Will._ ” There was a chuckle, and when Will finally looked back up to meet his gaze, he wondered just how long Chilton had been holding back that particular brand of therapy, and if he’d ever done it before. “That’s not very charitable of you. You got yours. Now I get to get _mine._ ”

 

Getting his, fortunately, meant nothing more than another session. Get him wound up, let him go, believe he’d be more relaxed afterwards and open up with more ease. Later, Will could only assume the trick with the blindfold was some sort of conditioning, to get Will to associate something _good_ with Chilton. If he associated something good with him, even if it was horrifying and shameful, then he’d be more willing. He might have even thought Will would be eager. It became a weekly meeting, and had gone mostly the same with one exception: the time he’d tried to ask Will just how _much_ he thought about Hannibal Lecter.

That hadn’t ended well for anyone.

The blindfold happened just the once, Chilton content to watch as Will tried to look at anything but him as he spoke his sexual thoughts aloud and worked himself over. Sometimes he had woken up hard. Sometimes he had to work himself up to it, which was hardly easy with Chilton talking. After about the sixth time, he’d learned to just tune out his sincere dislike for the man, because then things would go _smoothly_ and he could be rid of him even sooner.

Four months later, Will Graham’s name had been cleared. There had been nothing of note in his case. There had only been Hannibal Lecter, found at the scene of a crime— _wanting_ to be found there, he had been quick to clarify—that was clearly committed by the Ripper. Poor Will Graham, spending so much time alone and miserable, poor Will Graham who knew and couldn’t tell a soul because he wouldn’t be believed. _Poor Will Graham._

The order for his release came swiftly, and he had just laced up his shoes when two orderlies and Chilton appeared at his cell, glass door sliding open for the last time. There were no cuffs, no restraints of any kind. Simply two large men and one doctor in a suit, looking ruffled and dismayed, even though he was obviously trying not to betray his feelings. Standing up, he took one last look over the cell before making his way to the exit, eyes shifting from the corner to Chilton’s.

It was one of the few times when Chilton hadn’t been willing to meet his gaze.

It was a quiet walk, the only sound being footsteps echoing throughout the hall. The door to the outside opened, Will stepped through, and he found himself inhaling fresh air for the first time in what seemed like a century, sun shining a little too brightly for what he was used to. Not far away, he spotted a familiar car, Jack Crawford leaning against it, looking up from his phone whenever he heard that heavy door swing open. When he pushed off from it, when he moved to make his way towards him, Will held up a hand to stop him in tracks, looked from Chilton to the orderlies. 

“Give us a minute. He’ll be right back, I promise.”

Chilton said nothing, and Will was a free man. Will also happened to be the reason one of their dogs was so well-behaved, so without Chilton’s disagreement, they were more than content to get back into the cool air of the hospital.

“I’m assuming Doctor Lecter’s going to be here soon.”

Chilton jerked his head up to look at him for the first time since they’d been in the same space, eyes narrowed but a little red from what Will could only assume was a lack of sleep, lips pulled into a taut line.

“He’ll be admitted tomorrow morning.”

“You mind some friendly advice?”

“Depends on the advice.”

“Just something to keep in mind, that’s all.” Will looked from Jack—obviously growing uneasy and ready to walk to him even though he’d expressed a desire for him to keep away—to Chilton again, voice dropping low and far more serious than Chilton could ever recall it having been. “Keep in mind, Doctor Chilton, that you may _work_ with the mind, but Doctor Lecter’s isn’t one you want to be in. If you’re not careful, he’ll unravel you. He’ll take advantage of anything he knows about you. And considering you’ve mentioned going to his house for dinner, I’m sure he knows more about you than you’d like a patient at your hospital to ever know, am I right?”

Brow furrowing, Chilton said nothing, waiting for Will to continue. He had no real power over him anymore, and although he was disinclined to admit that Will had any solid advice to give a man of his education, he _had_ participated in quite a slew of unethical practices that, if spoken of to the right people, could have him in far more trouble than Abel Gideon’s insistence that he used psychic driving.

“I’d suggest, and I’d suggest you _think_ about this suggestion, that you leave him to another psychiatrist.”

“He fed me _people_ ,” came out without any hesitation, a slip up of anger and disgust that Chilton wouldn’t have let out in any other situation. But he’d already started, and if he wanted Will to be quiet… “Which you know. But I’ll think about it.”

“Really?” Ducking his head a little, he searched his face to meet his eyes again, his lips quirked up into the most smile-like thing Chilton had seen him wear in months. “You’re not just saying that because you want me to be quiet about everything you’ve put me through?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Will.”

“How many times did you watch me jerk off? Did you keep count?”

“I hardly think—”

“ _I_ hardly think I have anyone to tell that to, for one thing. And for another, I would _hope_ you wouldn’t try the same thing with Hannibal Lecter. Not because that’s _really weird_ in the first place, but because you could probably have him buckled down head to toe on a cement block _on the ground_ and he’d still manage to kill you, somehow, if you were the only one in the room.”

“Trust me, _Mister Graham_ —what leniency I gave you will never be permitted to Hannibal.”

“Hannibal.”

The name sounded sour, like he’d eaten a candy that was bitterer had any right to be. Jack, tired of waiting, had nearly caught up to them, and Will found himself incapable of holding back a smile.

“Good to see you again, Will. Doctor Chilton.”

“You too, Jack.”

“Are you ready to go? I thought we’d get your dogs and take you back home.”

“Sounds perfect. One more thing, though, Doctor Chilton. If you ever need to talk about anything on the Chesapeake Ripper case that I have intimate knowledge of, we can work something out. You just need to _ask_ , and we can go from there.”

He didn’t have time to respond, and he certainly couldn’t respond like he would have liked to with Jack Crawford in front of them. Perhaps it seemed an odd offer, and Jack’s eyebrows lifted a little at it, but then Will’s hands were in his jacket (a jacket he’d purchased himself, something that was actually _his!_ ) and he was making his way towards the car with Jack Crawford while Chilton was left to stand and fume and resolve himself to ignore any suggestion that Will Graham could ever possibly give him.


End file.
